


The Part that Matters

by acacia59



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roger’s had a revelation and isn't quite sure what it means. Freddie is more than happy to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Part that Matters

***

“Darling, you’ve been as jumpy as a cat with her first litter. Out with it. What’s the matter?” Freddie looked at Roger over the top of his pint and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Roger started a little at the sudden question, causing Freddie to gesture in a way that eloquently conveyed, _see what I mean?_ “Ah, well…that is,” Roger stammered. “I guess I’ve got something to tell you.” He inhaled deeply. “I think I’m gay.”

For a moment Freddie just stared at him. And then the darker man broke down into raucous gales of laughter.

“Fred!” Roger exclaimed. “This is serious! I can’t sleep, I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, I don’t know the first thing about being gay…”

“Oh..ah, I’m sorry dear, but this is simply too good.” Freddie wiped away the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes and took a few deep breaths to recover himself. As his laughter faded, a look of diabolical scheming took its place on his face.

“Fred…” Roger said warningly. He knew that look all too well.

“Oh, but you have _so_ much to learn!”

***

“Umm, are we done yet?” Roger shifted from foot to foot, trying to work some feeling back into his legs. He tried to peer at Freddie over the top of a stack of potential purchased in his arms that included, but was not limited to, a 1920’s era fur coat, a bust of Elvis that Freddie had declared ‘devastatingly kitsch’ and some sort of teapot that looked pretty much the same as the other hundreds of teapots in the store but was apparently a steal at the price on the tag that had made Roger go pale in shock.

“Done?! But we’ve only gone to about five stores,” Freddie exclaimed as he went through a pile of rhinestone encrusted jackets.

“ _Only_ five, he says…” Roger muttered under his breath. “But my feet hurt and I’m bored and it looks like my great-aunt Myrtle’s attic threw up in here which is kinda creeping me out,” he whined, trying to put a maximum amount of pitiful suffering into his voice.

“But this is antique shopping! I though this is something we could do together now that you’re, umm, you know…”

And Roger looked around the crowded store, past the grey-haired, bespectacled woman at the cash register giving the two of them a knowing glare, at the tangled maze of rooms they had yet to explore. He couldn’t help feeling more than a little doomed.

***

Roger opened his closet and was struck speechless as he saw that his normal array of fairly fashion forward menswear had been replaced by an array of dresses, skirts and corsets that would make a burlesque dancer blush.

“Surprise!” shouted Freddie from behind him. “Aren’t they just a treat! It’s almost your birthday, after all.”

Roger pulled out a hot pink number and looked at Freddie in disbelief. “What have you done with my normal clothes?”

Freddie waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, they’re around. I figured you might want to, you know, transition slowly.”

“Freddie, you unbelievable airhead! Just because I look _good_ dressed up in women’s clothes, doesn’t mean I _like_ to dress up in them!”

Freddie looked confused. “But you like to.”

Roger buried his head in the pink monstrosity. “Not _like_ like,” he mumbled, face burning, lowering his voice an octave.

“Ohh,” Freddie said, understanding dawning. “I’ll just get Phoebe to return these, huh?”

***

“Freddie!” Roger yelled.

Freddie cupped a hand behind his ear and yelled back, “What!? I can’t hear you.”

“Freddie, tell me again what is going to happen here?” Roger shouted into the other man’s ear, straining to be heard over the pounding music that seemed to consist mainly of very adamant bass.

“It’s a sex club! The name is pretty self-explanatory, darling.” And then Freddie turned away and was lost in the haze of cigarette smoke and dim, neon lights, leaving Roger to run his hands nervously down the front of his trousers.

Abruptly, Roger felt a hot, sweaty body press up behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin and spun around, looking up at the person. And he continued to look up, past what seemed like miles of thick, matted chest hair, past pearly white teeth grinning out of a bushy black beard, into the eyes of a man who firmly placed a hand the size of a dinner plate on Roger’s arse.

“Hey, beautiful. I think a sweet, little morsel like yourself needs a big, strong daddy,” the man rumbled and then squeezed his hand. Hard.

“All right, that’s it!” Roger wrestled himself from the man’s grasp and stormed out of the building. Freddie managed to catch up to him before he reached the waiting car and grabbed his wrist to pull him around to face the frontman.

“What happened? What’s wrong? I turned my back for a sec, you should have seen this guy…and then you were gone.”

“That’s it, Freddie,” Roger all but growled. “I don’t want your busybody interference anymore. Antiques! Dresses! Great, big furry men!”

“They’re called bears, dear,” Freddie interjected.

Roger gaped back at him. “I did _not_ need to know that.”

“Sorry,” Freddie replied, contritely. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know. I’m sorry for yelling.” Roger sighed. “I just need to figure this out on my own, okay?”

Freddie smiled and pulled him in for a tight hug. “Umm, do you mind if I go back in then?”

***

Brian answered the door in nothing but his underpants and a hastily tossed on and unbuttoned shirt. He rubbed his face tiredly and tried to restore some sense of order to his hair before finally looking the cause of his interrupted rest in the eye. “Roger, it’s four in the fucking morning. This had better be important.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Brian. It’s just that I need to tell you something. I’ve looked it over from all the angles and it doesn’t quite add up, but it’s the only thing that really makes sense…it’s that I think I’m gay,” he said in a rush. “Freddie’s been trying to help, but it’s been a mess, frankly—“

“Roger…”

“…And I don’t like antiques and women’s clothing is a bit of a lark and not like a lifestyle choice or anything and I don’t need a daddy and those bears kinda scare me and Freddie says I am terrible at this but the truth of the matter is that I can’t seem to get your face or the way your butt looks in a tight pair of jeans out of my head and I think that I am falling hopelessly and deeply in love with you…and maybe the rest of it doesn’t matter.” Roger took a deep breath and finally looked up anxiously to meet Brian’s eyes.

The other man didn’t move for a moment. He seemed to be thinking very hard. Finally, he sighed and held out his arms. “Come here,” he murmured.

Roger took a stumbling step forward and Brian folded him into his arms. He felt deliciously warm and Roger rubbed his nose into the patch of skin between the edges of his shirt, his fine chest hair tickling just enough to send a skittish tingle through his body.

“Better?” Brian’s voice rumbled through his body and Roger looked up and smiled.

“This. I can do this.”

Brian smoothed a hand through Roger’s hair and the drummer had to resist the urge to push against his hand and purr like a contented cat. Brian smiled back at him, crookedly. “This is the only part that matters.”


End file.
